Chapter 7 #2
I resist the urge to fling the nearest bucket at his head. “How would you have any idea what I’m capable of?”
His eyes darken. “If you had a patient admitted with painful white sores, coughing up blood, what would you give them?”
The question catches me off guard. “I…I would examine them first.”
“Sure. But any second-year medical student could tell you they had crow’s cough, and they’d need draught of leatherweed.”
I swallow.
He fires off another question. “If a mother were delivering a child, and she hemorrhaged, what’s the first thing you’d do?”
Shame blazes through me. “I’m not sure.”
“And if an infant was vomiting so violently that they were approaching dehydration, what would you give them?”
I know this one! “Sandal bark?”
“Wrong. Sandal bark isn’t appropriate for infants. You’d stop the child’s heart.”
Rage swells in response to his smug expression. I don’t need reminding that I have plenty to learn. My Talent claws up my spine, hissing to silence him. I have to struggle through a few calming breaths before saying, “Look, I didn’t say I know everything—”
“I would settle for you knowing anything,” he snaps. “From here on, that’s the assumption you should be working with. You know nothing and have everything to learn. That’s your baseline.”
He sounds just like Mother. “Do you talk to all your staff like this?”
“The rest of my staff knows how to respect authority.”
“I don’t respect cruelty.”
Cygnus laughs mirthlessly. “It’s actually indicative of your naivety that you think I’m being cruel right now.”
“You are being mean.”
“I’m trying to help you.”
“How is this helping?”
His nostrils flare. “There is a certain way things are done here. I’m warning you that you must learn to conform to that system, or you will draw unnecessary attention to yourself.”
Is he seriously trying to mask his disdain under the guise of protecting me?
“What do you want me to do, then? Go back to my room and twiddle my thumbs?”
“I want you to learn when to shut up and listen,” Cygnus growls. “Put your head down and do the damn work.”
“Fine,” I snap. “In exchange, I’d like you to stop treating me like a simpleton.”
Cygnus gives me a long, hard look. “You can have my respect when you’ve earned it, Leera.”
“It’s Leer—ee—uh. Lyria!” I shout at his retreating form.
As my first week in the castle passes, Cygnus and I sink into a stalemate.
He barely glances at me each morning when he issues the day’s instructions: chamber pots, laundry, scrubbing, repeat. I learn the definition of loathing while marching off to complete them. The impasse takes hold as he realizes, gradually, that I’m willing to take everything he throws at me.
I scrub bloodstains from bedsheets until my fingers are raw.
I crush lice eggs and wash corpses and sweep urine-soaked mats.
As I work, I’m trailed by glares and whispers.
Anna is the only person who will even return a hello.
Loneliness devours me, but that’s nothing new.
When I catch myself pining for Finn, I smother the thought.
His rejection still stings, which is mortifying.
It was stupid to expect that he cared enough to be here when I arrived.
My value to him is my craft. Nothing more.
I take Cygnus’s advice, put my head down, and do the damn work.
But I hate every second. I race through my tasks, but I complete them so thoroughly that he can’t protest when I finish early.
For the first time in my life, I feel grateful I was raised by such a perfectionist. There’s a special satisfaction when I stroll into his office each afternoon and announce the completion of my drudgery.
Then I skip off to the storehouse, where my real work can start.
Cleaning Ragglestaff’s mess is a daunting undertaking. The more I excavate, the worse it seems. It takes hours and hours of scrubbing, wiping, and hauling Gods know how many buckets of soapy water, but toward the week’s end, I have something close to a functioning workspace.
One night, I return to my chambers to find a box on the bed. My heart skips a beat when I see the royal crest on the accompanying letter, thinking that perhaps Finn has written to me, but it sinks again as I tear it open.
Lyria,
I’ve accumulated Ragglestaff’s notes for your inspection. Please cross-reference the information here with whatever else you find in the storehouse. I appreciate your attention to this vital matter.
With warmest regards,
Her Royal Majesty
Queen Davina
I stifle my disappointment and examine the box.
Inside is a trove of handwritten notes, diagrams, and charts.
A few books are included, with notes scrawled in the margins in the same spidery script.
Most of the documents are baffling. I find no reports of experiments or outcomes—Ragglestaff mostly seemed to scribble nonsense.
I find some rambling thoughts about blood and the elements, and countless pages detailing symptoms. Some descriptions make me shiver: PAIN. SO MUCH PAIN.
I decide that the best first step is to transcribe everything into a fresh notebook.
Once it’s all laid out, I can decipher possible meanings.
I’m in the middle of copying a diagram of a cliffcrow one afternoon when I’m startled by a crash behind me.
I nearly tumble out of my chair as I whip around to meet the intruder.
It’s a tiny girl around my age with short, frizzy blond hair.
“Uh…hello!” She jerks a little wave, wincing as we both glance at the bottle she’s tipped. “Sorry about that. You’re Lyria, right? My name’s Daisy. I heard you’re new here and sort of just…came to say hello. Do you need help?”
“Uh, sure,” I say after a moment’s pause. It’s been so long since anyone’s spoken to me, I don’t know what to make of her offer.
“How’ve you been settling in?” Daisy asks, glancing around the storehouse.
She wears a cornflower-blue uniform, which I’ve come to learn means she’s a nurse.
She takes a nearby sponge and begins scrubbing the counters.
Before I can answer her question, she adds, “I’ve always wondered what Ragglestaff had in here.
He was so secretive. Nice man, but really kept to himself, y’know? ”
“You should have seen it a week ago,” I say. “So far, I’ve done basically nothing but clean.”
“I noticed you on the staging floor yesterday!” Daisy grins. “I’ve never seen anyone scrub floors so enthusiastically.”
“That’s because Cygnus is trying to work me to death,” I grumble.
“Cygnus?” She giggles.
I’m a little alarmed to see her blush. “You know him?”
“Of course! I mean, I don’t interact with him much…but he waved to me last week in the dining hall, so he definitely knows who I am.”
“He’s the worst, isn’t he?”
She looks puzzled. “You think so?”
“He’s been hateful since the minute I got here,” I confide. “You’re the first person who has actually talked to me.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t hate you.”
“Oh, yes he does.” I picture his disdainful expression. “Or at least he doesn’t think I have what it takes. He actually made it pretty clear he doesn’t want me here at all.”
“Don’t listen to him. It’s all bluster—probably some unhinged psychological tactic he learned at school. Ever since he came back from Belshire, he thinks he hangs the moon.”
I frown, imagining younger Cygnus seated in a lecture hall.
Belshire is the most prestigious school in Sontaag, where I hoped to one day complete my education if Mother would ever allow it.
The fact that Cygnus got to study there while I was stuck in the Ironwoods feels like a crime against justice.
“Why is he even in charge?” I ask. “He’s awful.”
“Because he’s a damn good Healer,” Daisy says matter-of-factly.
“Before Cygnus got involved with the East Wing, things were a mess. Ask anyone who was around then. Back then, the hospital just treated the royals and guests. He got in here and completely turned things around, so they promoted him right to the top. The queen loves him. She’ll give him anything he wants.
That’s the reason we treat the common folk. Cygnus was the one who pushed for it.”
I don’t like how this information opposes the impression I’ve formed of the Head Healer. Something churns in my chest—guilt, maybe? I don’t need Cygnus to give me reasons to like him.
“But he’s so…” I do a rude impression of his posture.
“He’s a genius. That’s just how they are, I suppose.” She shrugs.
As we clean, Daisy chatters on and on. I find her unnerving at first but gradually grow to appreciate her chipper attitude.
I don’t have to interject much and can mostly just listen.
She tells me her whole life story. I learn that she loves fashion and dreamed of making gowns for noblewomen but was the only one in a big family with the grades for the Royal Nursing Academy.
“I still like it here,” she says. “My sisters are all sweating in a kitchen somewhere, while I get to be in the heart of the city. How did you end up in the castle?”
I open my mouth, then shut it again. What if she forms the same impression of me as Cygnus did?
I’m reluctant to admit I was summoned after a chance encounter with Finn.
The story might trigger dangerous questions, and I don’t need anyone scrutinizing his recovery too closely.
But being surrounded by people while having no one to confide in feels even worse than total isolation, somehow.
In the end, I tell her almost everything.
Daisy is wide-eyed as I describe healing Finn after the Moragorion—omitting, of course, the magical details—and his subsequent skirmish with the mercenaries.
I describe my first encounter with the queen and explain that she’s tasked me with an important classified project.
To my relief, Daisy doesn’t press for details about the assignment.
She’s much more interested in my relationship with Finn, even when I explain I haven’t seen him since my arrival.
“I mean, I’ve heard that about Prince Finneas,” Daisy admits, her cheeks turning rosy.
“What do you mean?”
“Well…he’s got a reputation. If you know what I mean.”
I don’t. “What kind of a reputation?”
She swallows. “I would never say anything to disrespect the Crown, of course…but, y’know, the princes all have very distinct personalities.
Different strengths and weaknesses. Like, Sebastian’s the best scholar, and he’s always been so focused.
He got engaged to Prince Roman at sixteen, which everyone was thrilled about, because it sealed the alliance with Sulnik…
but I don’t think he ever even courted anyone else.
And Damien’s the best fighter, everybody knows that.
King Rodrick had to ban him from tournaments because he kept accidentally killing our allies. But Finneas…”
“He’s the fun one,” I complete, with my stomach sinking. Didn’t he tell you himself ?
“Yeah. I suppose so.” Daisy nods a little, looking uncomfortable. “At least, that’s what I’ve heard from the other nurses…and the maids…and the scullery.”
I can hear the subtext in her words, echoing Cygnus. He likes to play with his girls and then drop them. The mental picture of Finn in another girl’s arms makes me nauseous.
“I’m not saying that means he’s off with a girl somewhere,” Daisy says quickly.
“Right.” My ears burn.
“I’m serious, Lyria. The fact that he brought you all the way here means you’re obviously special to him.”
I think of Finn’s letter. I’ve spent a week and a half puzzling over the meaning of the word dazzled.
Forgive me for leaving without confessing my feelings, he’d written. But what feelings could he mean? Gratitude for saving his life? Relief that I might be able to stop the plague?
And if I really am so special, why isn’t he here?
“He’s given me no reason to believe that,” I insist. But I’m flooded with memories of the cottage. Every tactile detail is burned into my brain: the rough warmth of his hands, the hard lines of his body against mine, the smell of his skin, like sun warming rocks after rain.
Daisy looks unconvinced. “Whatever you say.”